The Concert
by BoomerCat
Summary: Steve is skeptical when Clint suggests they attend a concert.


**Disclaimer: **Why yes, I do own the Avengers. Well, the DVD anyway.

Captain America cast a dubious glance at the two assassins bouncing up and down next to him. They seemed to be totally enjoying the song that was blaring out from the stage forty feet away, and Cap… no, he was not in uniform, so he was just plain Steve Rogers… Steve could see they were actually singing along. As far as he could tell, the lyrics consisted of "Let's do it, let's do it, let's do it, do it, do it" over and over again. He'd never know it from the band blasting sound out over the audience in semi-painful waves. He could only tell by reading the lips of his two team mates, and apparently every other person within a ten yard radius.

Steve heaved a sigh. Just when he was starting to think he had some kind of common ground with at least one of the Avengers, this so-called concert proved they were worlds apart. He looked over at Clint Barton, and couldn't help the small grin that formed. It was nice to see the tightly wound archer so relaxed and loose.

The SHIELD agent tended to be serious to the point of seeming grim, and when Steve had first really met him, on a flight to New York to battle aliens, it had been hard to get him to say a single word. Instead he seemed to rely on his partner, Natasha Romanoff, to do the talking. Despite his taciturnity, he had proved to be an able warrior, taking over the tactical part of the job, directing various Avengers to hotspots of alien activity and using a bow of all things to drop the alien sleds from the sky. Steve had been very satisfied with the man's work.

Of course, when the battle was over, and the various members of the team tried to come together, to bond with each other, both assassins had hung back, Barton more than Romanoff. When Tony Stark had offered all five other Avengers luxury apartments in the newly named Avengers Tower, Barton had looked at the man as if he were crazy, and only acquiesced when ordered to do so by Nick Fury, the Director of SHIELD.

Steve had been surprised when the reclusive archer had showed up at his door one Saturday morning holding a hard rubber disc that he called a Frisbee. The man had bullied Steve into heading to a nearby park to practice. With his experience with his shield, it had taken Steve only a few moments to figure out how to use the Frisbee. Once he was comfortable with it, Barton had startled him by leaping up and catching Steve's toss between his legs then spinning in midair to send the disc flying back. Within ten minutes the two Avengers were engaged in what Barton called 'combat Frisbee', each jumping high, flipping or otherwise performing dazzling tricks as the Frisbee was thrown at breakneck speed back and forth. At the end of the morning, Steve was grinning, having enjoyed the session immensely.

After that, Barton had shown up almost every Saturday morning, a challenge in his eye, a smirk on his lips. As the weeks passed, the archer took Steve out to a Dodgers game, to Kennywood, an amusement park with multiple roller coasters outside of Pittsburgh, to a country fair in upstate New Hampshire, and to a Parkour course in Brooklyn. Steve enjoyed all of the outings, and felt that he was getting to know the archer, at least as well as the elusive man would allow.

When Barton had suggested the concert, saying it was 'easy' music that he thought Steve might enjoy, Steve had been skeptical. He found modern music basically incomprehensible. But when Barton had gotten that challenging look in his eye, Steve had shrugged and said okay.

Early on the day of the concert, the archer had shown up at Steve's door, saying he could not be seen at the concert in 'old fogey' clothes, and had insisted on a trip to the clothing stores on Fifth Avenue. Steve had raised an eyebrow at that. Barton's clothes always seemed a bit… lived in. Faded tee shirts and ratty jeans and cargo shorts seemed to be the man's casual attire.

Steve had started to shake his head when Natasha came hurrying up. She grabbed Steve by the arm and told Barton in no uncertain terms that she was in charge of clothes shopping, and he could just go scuttle back to his air vents. Barton had scowled, but turned and slunk away while Natasha had tugged on Steve's arm, giving him no opportunity to decline.

As they shopped, Natasha had let on that she was also going to the concert, and she refused to be seen in public with either man in their preferred state of dress. When he would have headed for a more conservative store, she had wrinkled her nose, and pulled him away. When she stopped in front of a display of shiny suits with matching neon tinted shirts, Steve had dug in his heels, saying no way.

The two Avengers squared off, and Steve knew he would lose if she wrinkled her nose again. The woman was just so damned attractive. He gathered his resolve around him like Thor's cape. Even after several outings with Barton, he still had no clue what the man's relationship with Romanoff was. He was no poacher, and until he knew for a fact that he had a clear field, he would not act on his attraction to the redheaded woman.

Fortunately for Steve, Natasha backed down, rolling her eyes. Finally, they found a store they could compromise on. She selected a pair of jeans, a shirt and sports jacket, and while Steve was trying them on, she selected another pair of jeans, a tee shirt and a sweat jacket from a display marked 'Hoodies' for Barton. When he looked from his jacket to the hoodie she held with a question on his face, Natasha shrugged, saying she couldn't get Clint into a sports jacket no matter how she threatened.

Steve had snorted a laugh, then looked at the hoodies on display. He started to reach over and pick one up when Natasha wormed her way between him and the clothing display. Putting her hand on his chest she said no. Steve had argued that there were other reasons for wearing hoodies than concerts.

Steve tried to get around Natasha to no avail. Every time he reached for one of the jackets her hand was there, batting his away. Steve pulled back thinking it was ridiculous for Captain America to be stymied by a woman who couldn't weigh more than 110 pounds sopping wet. Natasha just shook her head telling him that if he had to pick a role model for clothing he should look to Tony Stark, not Clint Barton who wouldn't know fashion if it jumped up and bit him.

Steve finally gave up, heading toward the cashier station. Natasha followed behind, a satisfied look on her face. Once the purchases were paid for, Steve turned toward Avengers Tower and started walking. He'd gone a few feet when he realized that Natasha was not beside him. He turned to find her back at the store entrance, head cocked and eyebrows raised.

When Steve asked her why she had stopped, she replied that she deserved a new outfit too. His heart sank. Shopping for women's clothing was something that no red-blooded American male enjoyed, and he was, after all, Captain America. On the other hand, Natasha gave him a look that dared him to walk away. With a weak smile, he obediently returned to the assassin's side, and took the bag that she handed him imperiously.

Three hours later, Steve followed Natasha out of yet another boutique. He looked longingly at Avengers Tower, visible in the distance. He had long since concluded that his only purpose was to serve as a mule, carrying multiple bags and boxes from the numerous shops that Natasha had visited. It was only the fact that she had asked his opinion on the different outfits she tried on, each one hotter than the last, that he had stuck it out for as long as he had.

He finally put his foot down, telling Natasha that he had to get back to the tower for an important meeting. Natasha had looked at him with exasperation, but gave in, even going to the curb to flag down a taxi for the ride home.

That had been in the morning. Now, as twilight faded, and the heat of the city cooled, he was in his new outfit looking at his two team mates in their new outfits, dancing with abandon in Central Park. If you could call it dancing. It seemed to consist of jumping up and down in place with their hands above their heads. A far cry from the intricate jitterbugs of his own day.

The song finally wound down, and the entire audience hooted and screamed their appreciation. Steve winced at one banshee-like screech a few rows over. He looked in that direction and frowned when he saw a petite oriental woman, perched on the shoulders of a tall man.

She had her long hair in pigtails high on the sides of her head, and she was wearing what appeared to be the kind of dress Shirley Temple wore in the movies of his day. She was wearing frilly socks and patent leather Mary Jane shoes like a little kid, and in her hand was a huge multi-colored lollipop. She was screeching at the top of her lungs, beating the poor guy who held her up with her free hand.

Steve had no clue what the woman was about, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He sensed a presence at his side. He looked over to see Clint standing next to him, staring at the same woman, a bemused look on his face. When he saw Steve's glance, the archer shrugged, saying, "You gotta love New York. So, what do you think of the concert?"

Steve cocked his head, listening to the band's next number. He looked at his companion and asked drily, "Are the lyrics I'm hearing, gotta get get?"

Clint grinned and replied, "Yeah. Great, isn't it?"

"Where'd Natasha go?"

Clint nodded toward a line of portable bathrooms across the park. "Little girl's room."

Steve frowned. "Shouldn't we have escorted her?"

The archer looked at him as if doubting his sanity. "She's scarier than anything out there. And she takes exception to anyone implying she's less than totally capable of taking care of herself."

"Still… it's the proper thing to do."

"If by proper you mean, "I wanna spend a few weeks in the hospital" then be my guest, go ahead and escort her. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Steve had a sudden thought. "I will say you didn't warn me. You didn't warn me this morning when she took me to shopping hell."

Clint laughed. "Yeah, I saw all the bags. To tell the truth, I learned that lesson so long ago, it never even occurred to me to say anything. Did she take you to that little place with all the half-naked girls, then practically break your arm when you dared to look at them?"

Steve snickered. "Yeah, she did, only with me, she used her deathray look. The one that can eat through inch thick steel."

Clint grimaced. "I hate that look. Let me warn you, she follows up on that look. Watch your back."

"She wouldn't let me buy a hoodie."

Clint grinned smugly. "She hates them. "

"Is that why you wear them?"

Clint shrugged. "Maybe. Hey, you want a beer? I'm buying?"

Before Steve could answer, he felt a tug at his waist. He looked down, and found the oriental woman tugging on his jacket. "Hey mister, you very tall. You let me get up on you shoulders, okay?"

Steve held up his hands and backed away. He had no clue what this lady was looking for, and he didn't want to find out. When he shook his head, the woman pouted for a moment, then spied Clint. "You not so tall, but you good enough. Gimme boost."

Clint, apparently in a far more social mood that Steve had ever seen him in before, cocked his head, then with a shrug, bent one knee and held out his hand to the woman. The woman grabbed his hand and scrambled up his side until she was on his shoulders. She immediately started screeching and whacking him about the head. Clint allowed the beating with apparent equanimity.

Steve looked his team mate in the eye, his own eyebrows up. Clint shrugged, ignoring the woman's antics. "It's New York, what can I say?"

The woman suddenly reached down and grabbed Barton's chin, pulling his head up so she could shriek in his face, "You hold real still, I stand up now."

"Uh..." Steve snickered as Clint's blasé New Yorker attitude slipped when the woman, started to climb up to stand on his shoulders. She made it safely to a standing position, and Clint reached up to grab her legs to steady her. As soon as he touched her legs, she screeched, and dropped down heavily until she was once again sitting on Clint's shoulders.

Steve winced in sympathy. That had to hurt. Steve could see that the archer had had just about enough of the woman's antics. But before he could say anything, Clint's eyes suddenly widened in obvious fear, and he froze like a deer in headlights.

Steve grimaced as it became obvious the woman was grinding her bottom against the back of Clint's head. But that wasn't what had suddenly frightened the man. Steve started to turn to see what Barton was staring at, when a blur of color shot out of the crowd and leapt, not at the archer, but the woman currently practically masturbating on his shoulders.

Steve's jaw dropped as Natasha Romanoff threw herself at the woman on her partner's shoulders, knocking the archer to the ground, and grabbing for the woman's pigtails. Barton rolled frantically out of the way, his hand against his nose. He popped to his feet, and stepped up next to Steve.

Steve glanced over and then did a second take as he saw the blood streaming through his team mate's hands. He was torn between making sure Barton was alright and watching the escalating fight on the ground.

The fight won out easily. It was fascinating in a… um… he had to suck in a breath to get his body under control. To his surprise, Natasha had not murdered the woman in the first seconds of the fight, instead opting to roll around on the ground trying to pull the woman's hair out, while the seemingly child-like woman was scratching and biting, giving as good as she got.

The crowd seemed to be into the fight, several of the men around the perimeter yelling encouragement, and pouring their beers on the two women, turning the ground into a slippery mud. Steve found himself frozen to the spot, unable to take his eyes off of the fight.

As Natasha's dress got wet, it clung to her body showing off everything about her, and all of Steve's concentrated breathing wasn't helping. He would have been mortified at his lack of control, but for the fact that every other man in the area was suffering from the same lack.

Except Barton, apparently. He grabbed Steve and pulled him away from the fight with one strong hand, while holding his nose with the other. "Steve, come on, man, I need to get to the first aid tent."

Steve kept looking back at the raging cat fight. "Um, shouldn't one of us stay here? Uh, keep an eye on Natasha?"

Barton started to shake his head, then thought the better of it when the blood still streaming from his nose sprayed around. "No, we don't want to be anywhere near her when this is over. Especially me. Come on, I'm bleeding all over my new tee."

"Yeah, uh, okay. Are you all right?"

"Do I look…" The archer started to bark out, then closed his eyes and started again. "I'm fine. Or I will be when I get my damn nose cauterized. Now, come on. Security's shown up, and I don't want to get caught in their sweep."

The two men made their way out of the concert grounds, and over to a tent marked with a red cross on a white square. Barton's nose was still streaming, and Steve was starting to become concerned. "You need me with you?"

The archer gave him a wry look. "Why, you wanna hold my delicate little hand?"

Steve returned the look and in the same deadpan tone, replied, "Well, if you don't need me, why am I here?"

Barton sighed. "Just stay, and I'll explain it to you when I'm done here, okay?"

Steve sighed, and nodded reluctantly. "All right, but I want that explanation, so don't think I'll let you clam up."

Barton rolled his eyes, and strode away to the tent. "Yeah, fine, whatever."

Steve turned to face back toward the concert grounds, crossing his arms and looking like a stone statue. As he listened to the now distant music, he wondered what could possibly have been in the archer's mind to think that Steve would find the… caterwauling… 'easy'.

Steve was also wondering about the cat fight. Why hadn't Natasha just decked that woman? He knew she was capable of it, he'd seen her do just that with aliens and goons twice her size. She certainly seemed furious enough.

Steve puzzled over possible answers and when Barton stepped up next to him, his nose stuffed with waded cotton, he had to pose the question. "So, how come Natasha didn't just kill that woman?"

Barton looked at him and shook his head, saying in a stuffed tone, "I gotta get to the Tower. They told me to go to the hospital to get my nose cauterized, but there's no way I'm doing that. Banner can do it just as well, so come on, I gotta get to the Tower."

"Wait… what about Natasha?"

"What about her?"

"We can't just leave without her."

"Oh yes we can." Barton started heading toward the parking garage where the car awaited.

Steve shook his head in disgust, following. "See, this is one of those reasons why it seems like the world has gone to hell in a hand basket. In my day, no gentleman would ever leave a lady to find her own way home."

Barton smiled, shrugging. "The same holds true today. The problem is, I've never been a gentleman."

Steve stopped walking. "Well, maybe it's time you learned."

"Can we have this conversation in the car?"

"I think we'd better have it right now, because I'm not leaving Natasha to make her own way home."

Barton stared at Steve, and Steve for once could see exactly what the man was thinking. Irritated, he said, "And no, you aren't leaving us stranded. You're staying right here until you've explained to me why I shouldn't just march you back to that noise you call a concert."

Barton stared a few moments more, then, trying to hide a grin, said, "We didn't get our hands stamped. You try to get back in and they'll toss your butt in jail."

Steve just folded his arms across his chest. Barton tried staring, but finally gave up. "Okay, fine. You want to know why we're bailing? I'll tell you. You asked why Tasha didn't kill that girl? Well, it's because she isn't mad at that girl, she's mad at me. Once that fight gets broken up, she is going to come looking for me, and if she can't find me, she will take out whoever she can find, and that, Cap, is you. I am running with my tail tucked between my legs because I just don't feel like getting beaten up any worse tonight. You want to find out just how she can be, you go right on back, but don't expect me to hang around."

Steve frowned. "She isn't going to beat you up."

"I've been her partner for years, you've known her for what, three months? Yes, she is going to beat me up. I can't avoid it, I can only delay it until I'm in better shape for it. So, you can help me get to Dr. Banner, or you can stay here and hope your silver tongue can save you a few bruises. It's up to you."

"She's really going to beat you up? And you're going to let her?"

Barton shook his head. "There's no 'let' about it. You'll see. The first time she spots me, she's gonna insist on a sparring session. I can try to fight her, but that just pisses her off more, so I have to just stand there and take it. And if you think you could do better sparring with her, then you're living in that dream world of yours where women are the 'weaker' sex."

"Why would you put up with a woman who beats you up?" Steve was still having a problem with the concept.

"You know, I ask myself that all the time," Clint responded, wistfully, then shrugged. "Does it really matter? C'mon, before I bleed out here."

Steve allowed Clint to lead him to the car. Clint reached for the driver's side door, but Steve was there before him, blocking the way. "No," he said calmly, his hand held out for the car keys.

With a sigh, Clint handed the keys over, grumbling, "you break it, you pay for it."

"Yeah, yeah. Just get in and put your head back."

The two Avengers got into the car, and Steve calmly drove them back to Avengers Tower. They reached the parking garage, and Steve hit the brakes. "I thought that was your assigned parking space."

Clint, who had been sprawled with his head tipped back, leaned forward to look past Steve and sighed. "Well, let's just park in the public area for now."

"What, you know whose bike that is?" Steve looked the shiny motorcycle over with covetous eyes.

"Probably. Hey, Thor has a space, doesn't he? Let's park there."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want to risk it? He could show up and park Mjolnir there."

Clint snorted, then grimaced. "Hang on a minute." He leaned over, and pulled out the now bloody cotton wad from his nose, then stuck a finger up his nostril, and seemed to dig around.

Steve reared back in disgust. "What the hell are you doing?"

Barton pulled his finger out of his nose, something metallic and shiny on the tip. "Getting this out. It's what made my nose bleed. If she'd told me it would tap a damn artery, I would never have agreed."

Totally confused, Steve just stared. "What?"

Barton looked at the Captain a knowing smirk on his face. "C'mon, let's get upstairs. I want to get this tee shirt rinsed out. I kinda like it, and even in the new millennium blood stains if you don't take precautions."

Barton hopped out of the car and strode quickly to the elevator bank. Not about to be left behind, Steve trotted after his team mate. Once in the elevator car, he rounded on the archer. "What the hell, Barton. Are you saying that whole thing with the bloody nose was an act?"

Clint rolled his eyes. "An act, Cap, would not have involved a couple of quarts of my own blood. This was a deception."

Steve stared at the man. The archer stared right back, offering no further explanation. Steve held out for as long as he could, then with an air of knowing he was going to regret it, asked, "A deception?"

"Yeah. To get this."

Steve looked down at the file folder Clint was holding. "I thought that was the medical report on your nose."

"Not so much. Actually, it's information on a Hydra facility in the Great Lakes area. The double agent that brought it in was paranoid about being intercepted, so Fury had this set up."

The elevator stopped at the Avengers living quarters level, and Clint casually got off of the elevator, leaving the stunned Steve standing there with his jaw on the floor.

The elevator door started to close, and Steve started, reaching out a hand to stop it. Clint had almost escaped into his living quarters, but Steve strode quickly down the hall, and pushed his way into the man's apartment. "You're telling me that whole 'I'm going to bleed out' line was a bunch of crap?"

Clint had already stripped off his shirt, and grabbed another one from a drawer. Looking at Steve, he tossed the bloody shirt into the sink in his kitchen, and turned on the water. He reached into a cabinet and pulled out a box which he upended over the sink, sprinkling some of the contents into the water. "Wanna beer?"

Exasperated, Steve's voice went up a notch. "Was Natasha in on this, too?"

Clint shrugged. "What do you think?"

"So, she doesn't actually beat you up?"

"What do you think?" Clint repeated.

"I think you could have trusted me."

Clint, who had pulled two long necks from his refrigerator, tried to hand one to Steve, but the taller man wasn't having any of it. Clint heaved a sigh. "Well, I'm not taking the hit for this one on my own. Come on, let's go talk to Tasha."

Steve was getting pretty annoyed with the archer's casual attitude and had just about decided if Natasha didn't beat the man bloody, Steve just might. As he stalked after Clint, he noticed that the archer had subtly sped up, his shoulders tense as if he were half expecting a blow.

Coming out into the common room, Steve came to a stop at the sight in front of him. Seated primly on the couch sat Natasha, carefully combing out the long dark hair of an elegant Asian woman dressed, like Natasha, in a SHIELD uniform. It was impossible to equate the refined poised woman with the crazy woman-child at the concert, but who else could she be?

Clint had crossed the room to the couch, and taken the woman's hands. "Hey, May-May." He leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek, an action that caused the woman to grace the room with a tiny smile.

"Hawk, how are you?"

"I'm down a quart," he complained. "You could have told me that thing would make me bleed out."

The woman, May-May, made a moue of disgust. "You're such a baby. Tasha, how do you put up with him?"

Natasha, set aside the brush, and indicated Steve, who hadn't moved. "Agent Melinda May, may I introduce Captain America, Steve Rogers?"

Steve jerked forward, unable to ignore he demands of courtesy. "Agent May," he said, shaking her small delicately formed hand.

"Captain." The agent's smile widened a bit. "You did very well, I must say. And I understand from Tasha that this was your first undercover assignment."

The anger that had been simmering, burst forth. "Is that what you told her, Agent Romanoff? That you and Agent Barton kept me fully informed of your intention?"

Clint at least had the grace to flinch. Natasha just looked coldly back at Steve. "I never said anything like that to May. And she didn't say that I did. She knows full well that you had no knowledge of what was going on."

"That is true, but given that you were unaware of what we were doing, you still handled yourself very well, and I will be reporting that to Director Fury."

That pulled Steve up short. "Director Fury."

The woman's face suddenly closed, becoming as inscrutable as the Director himself. "Yes. I'm sorry, Tasha, Hawk, but the reason the Director sent me along was to evaluate Captain Rogers."

Both of the Avenger/SHIELD agents shifted in their seats, but Steve wasn't interested in their comfort level. "Evaluate me? Who the hell is Fury to evaluate me?"

Clint shrugged, "The last I looked, he was your boss."

Steve turned on the archer. "So, is that what you've been doing? Evaluating me?" The super soldier made evaluate sound like a dirty word.

Clint held up his hand in a mock Boy Scout salute. "No. I didn't know anything about May-May's evaluation, swear to God."

"Neither did I," piped up Natasha, apparently totally willing to throw Agent May under the bus.

Steve's voice was cold as he stared at Barton. "I'm not talking about tonight. I'm talking about all these little trips you've been taking me on. To the ballgame, the amusement park. Was that all, what did you call it? A deception?"

Clint froze, his face becoming the mask that Steve was so familiar with. He replied stiffly. "Okay, I am only saying this once. Natasha and I did not have anything to do with the planning of this mission. The entire operation from my bloody nose to Tasha's mudfest with May-May was orchestrated by Fury and Agent Hill. I invited you along because I thought you'd be able to appreciate the music. At a guess, I'd say Director Fury saw that as an opportunity and ordered Agent May to do the damn evaluation. As far as anything else goes, yes, Fury was aware of my obviously pathetic attempts to make friends with you. I'm required to make full reports on everything I do related to the Avengers initiative. But evaluate you? No, Fury never ordered that."

By the end of his speech, Clint had turned beet red with his effort to keep a level tone. Without another word, he slunk out of the room, leaving Steve to face the fury of both Agents May and Romanoff.

"That was totally uncalled for, Captain," Natasha said coldly.

May took another route. "Oh, I don't know, Tash. I was never on board with Clint's efforts to befriend this guy. And I was right, wasn't I? Captain America isn't good enough for Hawkeye, that much is clear."

Steve had watched Clint leave, and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. But that feeling turned to lead when he heard Agent May's snide remark. The anger that had drained with Clint's comments returned in spades. "You weren't on board? What, were our escapades posted on the bulletin board at SHIELD HQ? God, you people are unbelievable."

Agent May looked as if she would reply, but Natasha put a hand on the woman's sleeve. "May, thank you for your help. Can you see that the Director gets this file?"

Agent May stiffened at the obvious dismissal. She turned to Natasha and paused. Steve could see some sort of silent communication pass between the two women. Agent May finally smiled and accepted the file. "Of course. Tell Hawkeye I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to chat, will you?"

"Of course." Natasha stood up, and Agent May followed suit. The two women embraced, with air kisses, then parted. Agent May threw Steve an inscrutable look, then left without a backward glance.

Steve stood silently through it all, still angry. Once Agent May was gone, he turned on Natasha. "How would that woman know what Clint and I have been doing? Why would she know? Is this all a big joke to you people? Take the idiot old timer out and show him the modern world?"

Natasha gave him a pitying look. "You really are pathetic, you know that?"

His pride stung, Steve didn't reply, he just glared at the woman.

Natasha took a deep breath. "Shall I explain it to you? Or would you rather just wallow in your bruised ego?"

Steve bit back his first response, and took his own deep breath to settle himself. Despite Natasha's tone she really was offering him information, and Steve was always on the look out for good intel,

Moving over to flop on the couch, he gestured for the spy to sit with him. "Please do."

Natasha sat down next to the super soldier, but didn't make eye contact. "You asked how and why Agent May knew about your little,,, adventures with Clint. If you think about it, you'll realize she knew because you brought it up."

"But then, why would she... Oh, God, that was part of her evaluation?"

Natasha nodded, saying wryly, "Melinda May never says anything without a reason. She would never make a remark like that unless she was trying to get a response. And you gave her one."

Realization swept over him. "And then you got rid of her."

The spy's eyes were hooded. "I protect my team mates."

"And Clint hasn't been posting pictures on the bulletin boards at SHIELD?"

Natasha smiled a bit grimly. "Any reports related to the Avengers Initiative are made strictly to Director only way anyone would hear of them would be if you said something."

Steve flinched, but then carried on with a question that had been bothering him for weeks. "Then why was Clint so bent on taking me out?"

Natasha pursed her lips, and Steve thought she was not going to answer, but after a few moments she said, "Clint has trust issues. It takes years for him to develop confidence in other people's motives. He sees this as a flaw within himself, although it just seems like common sense to me. When Fury told us we were assigned to the Avengers Initiative, he thought he should try to learn to trust someone on the team. You're team leader, he picked you. He thought he had more in common with you that with two geniuses and a god. I told him he was crazy to think he had anything in common with you."

Natasha looked Steve in the eye, and let a bit of pain show. "I've never been more sorry to right in my life."

"I'll talk to him. I'll fix this."

"Don't doesn't give second chances."

Steve shook his head. "Second chance or not, I need to apologize. I'll talk to you later."

Steve moved to Clint's door and stood for several minutes trying to think of a way, any way, to make things right. When he realized he was just stalling, he lifted his hand and knocked.

There was no answer. Steve sighed, then asked, "JARVIS, is Agent Barton in his quarters?"

"Agent Barton is currently on the roof." JARVIS responded promptly. "Captain, it has been my experience when Agent Barton goes to the roof in his current mood, that it is unwise to bother him."

Steve closed his eyes, leaning his head against Clint's door. If JARVIS was being this protective, then he'd be telling Tony about it as soon as he had the chance. And Tony would no doubt tell everybody within hearing distance that Steve had 'broken' their archer.

He pushed off the door, shaking his head, and went around to the staircase to the roof. Climbing to stairs was more exhausting than it should have been. Steve felt weighed down by his misstep with Barton. Natasha was right. He really was pathetic.

He hit the door, and was mildly surprised when it did not open. "JARVIS? Why is the door to the roof locked?"

"Agent Barton requested that I lock the door. As I said, it is not wise to bother him at this time."

"JARVIS, override America3944. Unlock the door."

"Yes, Captain. The door is unlocked."

"Thank you."

"Be careful, sir. Agent Barton can be very dangerous."

"Understood." Steve opened the door, and cautiously stepped through onto the roof. It didn't take him long to spot the archer. He was sitting on the ledge that ran around the edge of the building. Steve noticed that the metal safety railing that should have kept people back had been neatly removed, in a section just wide enough for an archer-sized body.

Shaking his head, Steve moved up next to the man, and leaned on the railing. "You know, Tony comes up here and sees that rail missing, he's going to be pissed."

Clint shrugged. "I looked through all of his little rules. It doesn't say anything about removing rails."

"Uh-huh."

Steve looked out at the view. It extended uptown past Central Park. On a nice evening like this one, it was a spectacular view, but that wasn't why he was here.

"Look, I was an idiot, and I want to apologize."

"Not necessary."

"Actually, it is. I made a nasty accusation that wasn't warranted."

Clint shrugged. "It's okay."

Steve stomped down on his rising annoyance. "Don't say that. If it was okay, you wouldn't have walked out on me. If it was okay, you wouldn't be sitting up here, by yourself with the door to the roof locked. Clint, what I said is bugging you, and I think we should talk about it."

"Yeah? Do my thoughts have any weight with you? Because I don't wanna talk about it. I don't want even want to think about it. Nat was right. I'm just a jackass. Trying to fit in, trying to belong. Well, screw that. I'm done with trying. I'm here for as long as Director Fury says I'm here, and then I'm gone, and no one will even notice."

What bothered Steve the most about Clint's comments was the way they were delivered. The words deserved anger, but they were spoken with no emotion at all.

Steve kept his voice low and calm, like he was speaking to a child caught up in the horrors of war. "Clint, why do you think your thoughts wouldn't carry any weight with me?"

The archer snorted. "You said it yourself, Steve. The door was locked. But hey, you have your Captain America override, so why should you worry that I might have wanted the privacy?"

Steve sighed. "You're right. I should have respected your privacy, but Clint, when I watched you walk away, I saw our friendship walking away with you. It hurt. I'm sorry but it hurt, and I wasn't thinking about your privacy, I was just thinking I had to save this friendship any way that I could. You gotta give me a second chance."

"There's no friendship here, Steve. There's just a couple of guys doing things together."

"It was friendship on my side," Steve responded softly. "Can we just keep doing things together? Try to get back to where we were yesterday?"

Clint looked Steve in the eye, and after a few minutes shook his head. "I don't see the point."

Steve closed his eyes and remained quiet. Clint didn't take the bait. He just sat staring out toward the horizon. Steve had one last argument to try. "The point is we're supposed to be team mates. The more time we spend together, the more we learn about each other. It will make us stronger team mates."

Clint listened with his head cocked. With his flat emotionless mask firmly in place, Steve could not guess what he was thinking. After a few moments, Clint looked away and said softly, "Okay."

Steve's eyebrows climbed with his surprise. "Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

Steve felt relief flood through him. He sensed that things were not really okay between them, but if Clint was willing to try, Steve would work hard to make it work. He asked tentatively, "Is that beer still available?"

Clint ducked his head. "Sorry, I gotta get a shower. I've got dried blood all over me. Maybe tomorrow or something."

Clint made no effort to get up, but Steve knew he wasn't wanted. "Okay, then, I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah, have a good night." Clint's response was distracted, and Steve looked back at him to find him staring out at something that had caught his eye. He didn't even look, knowing that chances were not good that he would even spot whatever it was that had caught the Hawk's attention.

Steve headed for his room, a slight smile on his face. As soon as he sensed that Clint was letting up, he'd ask him why he thought the Black-Eyed Peas would be music that he'd like.

Epilogue

Clint Barton sat on the edge of the roof of the Avengers Tower his mind blank, his eyes darting from one movement to another. He'd been in the same position for the last two hours, and he knew Steve would be upset if he found him here after saying he was going to take a shower.

He didn't much care what Steve thought. His partner Natasha had derided his decision to try and make friends, telling him that their differences would prevent any real friendship from developing.

Sure enough, today had proved that Steve didn't trust him any further than he could throw him. Clint refused to admit that it had hurt. Well, Natasha had said it all telling him friends were weakness. She was right. She was always right. But he had seen people who were good friends, and… it didn't matter.

He heard the unlocked door open then softly close. Without turning he could tell it was Tasha. As she came up and slipped herself between the rails next to him, he asked, "May-May get off okay?"

"Hours ago. Why are you still out here? Did Steve put in an appearance?"

"Yeah. Hours ago. It went right according to the script. You're amazing you know. He said what you said he'd say almost word for word."

Tasha nodded, slipping her hand through his arm. "You sound sad."

Clint shrugged, and shook his head. "Naw, I'm okay. He didn't ask me anything, and I don't think he will at this point."

"If he does, you simply lie. I know you know how to lie, Clint."

Clint's smile was melancholic, and he nodded. "Yeah, I know how to lie."

Thinking her partner might be having second thoughts, she shook her head. "Do you really want the man to find out that your so-called friendship was a result of Director Fury ordering you to make friends?"

"If I handled it right, I think he'd be okay with it, Nat." Clint said his head down.

Tasha sighed, hearing the little boy longing for love in Clint's tone. "No, he wouldn't. Trust me on this, partner. You tell him you've deceived him and he will never forgive you. It's his upbringing. The self-righteous types are always rigid. You tell him, and there's at least a 50-50 chance you'll be off the team. And you've said it yourself, this team needs us. This team needs you. So get over it, and do what I've told you. Avoid him for the next week at least, and then we will continue our campaign."

Clint nodded, smiling at his partner. "Yes, Ma'am, you're right. Avoidance it is."

Tasha looked at him long and hard as if she didn't quite believe what he was saying. Clint continued to look her in the eye, and eventually she looked away. After a moment, she turned back with a flirtatious smile on her lips. "I wouldn't mind a bed mate tonight. As long as no hoodies are involved."

Clint grinned. The last time she invited him to her bed, he'd found his grimiest, nastiest hoodie, waited until she was asleep, then climbed into bed with her. It had taken a couple of hours, but finally the gym shoe smell had permeated her senses and she had leapt screaming from the bed. The scream had been worth the punishment she had devised.

Clint knew at that time that she was offering him pity sex. And it seemed the same was true now. Eventually, she'd learn. Since that earlier time, he had kept a pair of unwashed sweat pants in the bottom of his hamper. He stood up and grabbed the rail in front of him, until the sudden lightheadedness passed.

He understood exactly what Tasha was saying about how dangerous friendships were, but he also knew there were benefits that had only just started realizing with Steve. As much as he realized he was risking that blossoming friendship by admitting to the fact that he had indeed been ordered to make friends by Director Fury, Clint wasn't sure that the risks outweighed the benefits.

He moved to his quarters, and thought about it as he took a shower. He grabbed the Jurassic age sweatpants and slipped them on, blinking away tears as the smell of them hit him. Ready for a night with one or the other of his team mates, he stepped out into the hall. To the left, was Tasha. To the right was Steve. He stood quietly looking from one door to the other. Making his decision, he took the few steps to the door and knocked.

The End.

**Okay, yeah, kind of a mean way to end the story, but I am new to this fandom, and honestly, I don't know which way Clint would turn. I'm hoping you all will review and tell me. Would he go to Tasha, or Steve? If I get a clear answer, I'll write an additional chapter. **

**Oh, and review anyway, and let me know if I am off base at all. I'm looking for constructive criticism not flames, please. **

**Special note to Skysalla: Yeah, I know, don't lead with flashbacks, but this is just a leeetle story.  
**


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